Humor Me M-A 2002

I walked into my local Christian bookstore and the clerks promptly began diving for cover.

"Did he see it?" one of them whispered.

Another clerk sprawled in front of the counter, clearly attempting to shield my view of whatever "it" was.

"Call the manager!" hissed another employee, hiding behind a rack of WWJD wristbands.

"What's up with all this?" I asked.

"You'll just make fun of it if we show you," commented the cashier.

A light clicked on in the back of my mind.

"Let me guess. You got the TestaMints back in stock," I mused.

One of the clerks giggled.

For the sake of those of you who have never visited a Christian bookstore, let me enlighten you about this product that is commonly found by the cash register in religious stores. TestaMints are "Christian" breath mints, which is proven by the fact that, unlike the pagan "Certs" or heathen "Tic-Tacs," TestaMints have a cross stamped on them. The theory apparently is that if the unbelieving masses observe Christians gobbling up mints with crosses imprinted on them, a nationwide revival will take place, multitudes of sinners will repent, angels will rejoice, and that "holy kiss" St. Paul talked about will take on a whole new meaning.

While I am not a big fan of TestaMints, a friend of mine named Charlie Jones is wild about them. He thinks we need a whole assortment of Christianized mints that we can share with the unrepentant. He suggests "BanishMints," "ChastiseMints" and even "JudgeMints," perhaps stamped with little flames. Not that Charlie is a cynic or anything.

"I thought you said they stopped making those things," I groused to the manager.

"I think they are out of production. I can't get them anymore," she replied. "Want to see our new line of Bible commentaries?"

"Then what are you hiding?" I asked, ignoring her transparent attempt to change the subject.

"He'll find them sooner or later," the cashier said.

The manager shrugged, stepped away from the cash register, and revealed the latest product. I picked up a cellophane-wrapped tin, looked at the cover, and shuddered. Whereas your average godless Philistine grocery store carries Altoids, your average Bible Bookstore is now featuring "Almighty Mints," which include the following quote from the book of Job: "The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life" (chapter 33, verse 4).

"You have got to be kidding," I said.

"Um, people buy them," the manager offered in defense.

"This is the most awful commercialization of the faith I have ever seen," I complained.

"Oh, you haven't seen anything," replied the manager.

"What could be worse?" I asked.

"Well, the WWJD wristbands started to slack off so we are recycling them," she said.

"Recycling?" I asked, puzzled.

"Since the letters are the same, we are marketing them as 'What Would Jabez Do?' bands," she whispered.

"No ...," I gasped.

"Just kidding," she replied.

Frankly, it wouldn't have been all that surprising.

If this trend keeps up, I fully expect to see a line of Christian sandals ("Walk like Jesus walked!"), Christian cell phones ("Talk like Jesus talked!"), Christian sunglasses ("See with the eyes of faith!"), Christian cologne ("Smell like Jesus smelled!") and Christian mascara ("Look like Mary Magdalene looked until she converted!").

We are already halfway there. Many Christian "bookstores" are crammed with far more trinkets than books. And these trinkets, baubles, stickers, posters, rings, pens, glass angels, shirts, socks and ceramic salt shakers with "Ye are the salt of the world" written on them in tiny cursive script have become de facto substitutes for the nitty-gritty task of actually sharing the gospel.

Whereas Peter, Paul and Luke used words — both spoken and printed — we are handing out mints, hiding behind acronyms, and smothering the message of Christ beneath an absolutely darling little quilt festooned with little lambs and the text of the 23rd Psalm.

The Apostle Paul warned sternly against the danger of taking away what he called the "offense of the cross."

The cross was not cute. It was not cuddly. It was not warm.

It was a bloody, awful instrument of death. It was how Jesus died. It was, and still is, the means of salvation if it is actually preached and understood.

TestaMints will never save a soul. That is why I will continue to harangue my local Christian bookstore to get real.

Maybe I'll create my own line of HarassMints.




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I walked into my local Christian bookstore and the clerks promptly began diving for cover. "Did he see it?" one of them whispered. Another clerk sprawled in front of the counter, clearly attempting to shield my view of whatever "it" was. "Call the manager!" hissed another employee, hiding behind a rack of WWJD wristbands. "What's up with all this?" I asked. "You'll just make fun of it if we show you," commented the cashier. A light clicked on in the back of my mind. "Let me guess. You got the TestaMints back in stock," I mused. One of the clerks giggled. For the sake of those of you who have never visited a Christian bookstore, let me enlighten you about this product that is commonly found by the cash register in religious stores. TestaMints are "Christian" breath mints, which is proven by the fact that, unlike the pagan "Certs" or heathen "Tic-Tacs," TestaMints have a cross stamped on them. The theory apparently is that if the unbelieving masses observe Christians gobbling up mints with crosses imprinted on them, a nationwide revival will take place, multitudes of sinners will repent, angels will rejoice, and that "holy kiss" St. Paul talked about will take on a whole new meaning. While I am not a big fan of TestaMints, a friend of mine named Charlie Jones is wild about them. He thinks we need a whole assortment of Christianized mints that we can share with the unrepentant. He suggests "BanishMints," "ChastiseMints" and even "JudgeMints," perhaps stamped with little flames. Not that Charlie is a cynic or anything. "I thought you said they stopped making those things," I groused to the manager. "I think they are out of production. I can't get them anymore," she replied. "Want to see our new line of Bible commentaries?" "Then what are you hiding?" I asked, ignoring her transparent attempt to change the subject. "He'll find them sooner or later," the cashier said. The manager shrugged, stepped away from the cash register, and revealed the latest product. I picked up a cellophane-wrapped tin, looked at the cover, and shuddered. Whereas your average godless Philistine grocery store carries Altoids, your average Bible Bookstore is now featuring "Almighty Mints," which include the following quote from the book of Job: "The Spirit of God has made me; the breath of the Almighty gives me life" (chapter 33, verse 4). "You have got to be kidding," I said. "Um, people buy them," the manager offered in defense. "This is the most awful commercialization of the faith I have ever seen," I complained. "Oh, you haven't seen anything," replied the manager. "What could be worse?" I asked. "Well, the WWJD wristbands started to slack off so we are recycling them," she said. "Recycling?" I asked, puzzled. "Since the letters are the same, we are marketing them as 'What Would Jabez Do?' bands," she whispered. "No ...," I gasped. "Just kidding," she replied. Frankly, it wouldn't have been all that surprising. If this trend keeps up, I fully expect to see a line of Christian sandals ("Walk like Jesus walked!"), Christian cell phones ("Talk like Jesus talked!"), Christian sunglasses ("See with the eyes of faith!"), Christian cologne ("Smell like Jesus smelled!") and Christian mascara ("Look like Mary Magdalene looked until she converted!"). We are already halfway there. Many Christian "bookstores" are crammed with far more trinkets than books. And these trinkets, baubles, stickers, posters, rings, pens, glass angels, shirts, socks and ceramic salt shakers with "Ye are the salt of the world" written on them in tiny cursive script have become de facto substitutes for the nitty-gritty task of actually sharing the gospel. Whereas Peter, Paul and Luke used words — both spoken and printed — we are handing out mints, hiding behind acronyms, and smothering the message of Christ beneath an absolutely darling little quilt festooned with little lambs and the text of the 23rd Psalm. The Apostle Paul warned sternly against the danger of taking away what he called the "offense of the cross." The cross was not cute. It was not cuddly. It was not warm. It was a bloody, awful instrument of death. It was how Jesus died. It was, and still is, the means of salvation if it is actually preached and understood. TestaMints will never save a soul. That is why I will continue to harangue my local Christian bookstore to get real. Maybe I'll create my own line of HarassMints.